The Illusion Among The Crows
by GhostWriterDT
Summary: The reborn hero is an enigma: a young man whose warrior skills are blunted and memories, fragmented. This Itachi is a man out of time, marooned in a world as strange to him as a dream, remote from all he knew and loved. To most, he was a foolish hope. But not so to Ozpin [Unrequited Harem]
1. - Death is an Illusion

**Please, do not take everything you read at face value. Itachi's memory is fragmented and records of his time are very hard to come by. Ozpin doesn't know everything that happened, and those he know, might actually be wrong or be understood wrongly.**

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**THE ILLUSION AMONG THE CROWS**

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**The reborn hero is an enigma: a young man whose warrior skills are blunted and memories, fragmented. This Itachi is a man out of time, marooned in a world as strange to him as a dream, remote from all he knew and loved. To most, he was a foolish hope. But not so to Ozpin [Unrequited Harem]**

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First there was darkness, complete and absolute. No sounds to disconcert him, no conscious thoughts to concern him. Then came awareness of darkness and everything changed. He felt a pressure against his back and legs, and a gentle thudding in his chest. Fear touched him.

_Why am I in the dark?_ In that instant a bright, powerful image filled his mind.

_His brother, back pressed against the wall and knees shaking in fright, stared wide-eyed at his approaching staggering form._

_A bloody smile, one conveying his overwhelming love...and deep regret._

_"Sorry Sasuke... this is it..."_

_Two fingers poked gently against his forehead, his ultimate expression of love. Before he..._

His body jerked spasmodically, his eyes flaring open. Not only were the ruins that dotted the surroundings not around, he was not also on the ground. Instead, he found himself lying in a soft bed and staring up at an ornate ceiling, high and flat. He blinked and took a deep breath, his lungs filling with air. The sensation was exquisite — and somehow unnatural.

Confused, the man sat up and rubbed at his eyes. Sunshine was streaming through a high, arched opening to his right. It was so bright and painful that he raised his arm to shield his eyes from the brilliance. His eyes adjusting to the brightness, he stood and padded naked across the room. A cool breeze rippled against his skin, causing him to shiver. This too, in its own way, was confusing. The feeling of cold was almost alien.

The opening led to a bathroom, beyond which lay a vast expanse of water. Slowly, he scanned the landscape. There was nothing here that tugged at his memory. It was all new.

He shivered again, and walked back into the room. The room itself was also unfamiliar. On a table nearby he saw a water jug and a cup. He reached for the jug. As he did so he caught sight of his reflection in a curved mirror on the wall behind the table. Cold, onyx eyes stared back at him, from a face both calm and forbidding, yet carrying an undertone of warmth. There was something about the reflected man that was unrelentingly dangerous despite the evident apathy.

Becoming aware of a gnawing emptiness in his stomach, he recognized — as if from ancient memory — the symptoms of hunger. Filling the cup with water he drank deeply, then looked around the room. On another narrow table, alongside the door, he saw a shallow bowl, filled with dried fruit, slices of honey-dipped apricot, and apples. Carrying the bowl back to the bed he sat down and slowly ate the fruit, expecting at any moment that memories would come flooding back.

They did not.

Fear flared in him, but he quelled it savagely. "You are not a man given to panic," he said, aloud.

_How would you know?_ The thought was unsettling.

"Stay calm and think," he said.

_His brother's forehead against his, eyes wide in realization and body frozen in shock._

_"If I had been open with you from the start... and looked you in the eyes and told the truth... I wouldn't have to stand before you now, as a failure, telling you all this. So this time I want to impart this truth with you... you don't even have to forgive me... and no matter what you do from here on out, I will love you always."_

The memory faded. Anger swelled, but he let it flow over him and away. Holding to the memory of the scene, he analysed what he did remember. He had been bone weary. His shoulders unnaturally light as if a great burden had been removed. No, he realized, not weary.

He was dying. Or rather, he had died.

The shock of the memory made him rise again and return to the mirror. The face he saw was young, the skin unlined apart from the tear-troughs, the long hair dark and shining with health.

The image returned with sickening intensity.

_Finally done saying his piece, the reincarnated body dissolved and his soul was returned back to the afterlife._

A cold breeze blew in from the balcony. He rose and searched the room. By the far wall was a tall chest of drawers. The top drawer contained carefully folded clothing. Removing the first item, he saw that it was a thigh-length shirt of fine blue wool. He pulled it on, then opened the second drawer. Here he found several pairs of leggings, some in wool, others in soft leather. Choosing a pair in dark, polished leather, he donned them. They fitted perfectly.

Hearing footsteps outside his door he stepped away from the chest and waited, his mind tense, his body relaxed.

A middle-aged man entered, bearing a tray on which was set a plate of cured meats, and smoked cheeses. The man glanced at him nervously, but said nothing. He moved to the larger table, set down the tray and backed away towards the door.

"Wait!"

The middle-aged man stopped, eyes downcast.

"Who are you?"

Mumbling something under his breath, the tray-bearer rushed from the room. Only after he had departed did the man manage to piece together the answer he had given. The words were familiar, but somehow mangled. He had said: "Just a nurse, sir."

The man had heard: "Jezzenorseser."

Moments later a second figure appeared in the doorway, a tall middle-aged man with tousled silver hair. He was lean, and slightly round-shouldered, his eyes thin and piercingly brown. His clothes were sombre, a buttoned vest and green shirt, with black trouser shoes and long, dark-green pants. In his hand, aiding his steps, was a cane. He smiled disarmingly. "Mataianter?" he asked.

_Might I enter._ The man in the bedroom gestured for him to step inside.

The newcomer began to speak swiftly. The man held up his hand and spoke. "I am having difficulty understanding your dialect. Speak slowly."

"Of course. Language shifts, changes and grows. Can you understand me now?" the other asked, speaking clearly and enunciating his words. The man nodded. "I know you will have many questions," said the newcomer, pulling shut the door behind him, "and they will all be answered in time." He glanced down at the man's bare feet.

"There are several pairs of shoes and two pairs of boots in the closet within sight," he said, pointing to a panel against the far wall. "You will find all the clothes fit you well."

"What am I doing here?"

"An interesting first question. I hope you will not think me rude if I respond with one of my own. Do you know yet who you are?"

"No."

The silver-haired man nodded. "That is understandable. It will come back to you. I assure you of that. As to what you are doing here..." he smiled again, "you will understand better once you have remembered your name. So let us begin with my name. I am Ozpin, Headmaster of the Academy you are currently in. A city lays far from the Academy, Vale, and between them is the Emerald Forest. I want you to think of me as a friend, someone who seeks to help you."

"Why have I no memory?"

"You have been — shall we say — asleep for a long time. A very long time. That you are here at all is a miracle. We must take things slowly. Trust me on this."

"Is this the afterlife?"

"Why would you think that?"

"I recall... my death. Yet I am here, my body no longer grey or in a state of minor decay."

"Excellent," said Ozpin. "Your deaths! That is excellent." He seemed massively relieved.

"What is excellent?"

"That you recall your death. It tells me we have succeeded. That you are ... the man we sought."

"How so?"

"The ways of the Shinobi faded from history long ago. Only remnants of the legend abide. One such legend tells of a great warrior who stood against his clan's decision. Choosing instead to murder every single one of his family, including his parents and love interest to prevent a coup from occurring. Shouldering the guilt and hatred he felt was deserved from the only survivor."

"How would I recall an event that happened long ago?"

Ozpin rose. "Find yourself some footwear and let me show you the Academy and its grounds."

"I would appreciate some answers," said the man, an edge creeping into his voice.

"And I would like nothing more than to sit down now and supply them all. It would not be wise, however. You need to arrive at your own answers. Believe me, they will come. It is important for you that we do this in a careful manner. Will you trust me?"

"I am not a trusting man. When I asked you why I had no memory you said I had been asleep for a long time. More accurately, you said _shall we say you have been asleep._ Answer this one question and I will consider trusting you: how long have I been asleep?"

"A thousand years," said Ozpin.

At first the man laughed, but then he realized there was no trace of amusement to be found on Ozpin's face. "I may have lost my memory, but not my intelligence. No-one _sleeps_ for a thousand years."

"I used the word sleep, because that is the closest to the actuality. Your ... soul, if you like, has been wandering the Void for the past ten centuries or so. The remains of your actual body was used to reincarnate you. This is your new body — fashioned from my magic and the fragments of your bone*****." Ozpin reached into his trouser pocket. From it he took a small, moth-eaten band of cloth with a metal plate. "What does this mean to you?" he asked.

The man took the headband, his fingers closing gently around it. "It is mine," he said softly. "I cannot say how I know this to be true."

"Say a name — if you can."

The man hesitated and closed his eyes.

"Sasuke," he said, at last.

"Can you describe him?"

"Sasuke was my brother..." A brief flash of memory flowed through his mind, causing him to wince, as if in pain. "He was my younger brother."

"And you carried his headband?"

The man looked closely at Ozpin. "No. It is mine. My pride and fealty to my village. You don't look as surprised as I expected at my answer."

"You are quite right. Our earliest tales of ... of you ... have you hunted by a Shinobi named Sasuke. It is said you didn't kill him because of the love you had for him and as a way for you to atone for your sins. By having him kill you and be hailed as a hero. For years he had searched for you, hoping to finally kill you. Only for you, not to die by his hands but due to a sickness." Ozpin chuckled. "A fine tale, and there is probably a grain of truth in there somewhere. Now come with me, my friend. I have much to show you."

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**Why make another story you ask? Well this was the original idea I had for my Fate/Stay Night crossover fic, but chose that one over this. I couldn't get this idea out of my head though, and as I have read most, if not all, of the RWBY crossover staring my favorite Uchiha, I wanted him as my main character.**

*** And what Ozpin meant by "fashioned from my magic" would be explained later. And for the whole "fragment of bone" thing, I can explain it as Sasuke having scoured the Elemental Nation for the remaining pieces of his brother and burying it. And Ozpin finding the grave of Itachi and desecrating it. **

**Until next update. Don't forget to review, follow and favorite this story. It motivates me to write more. And if you can, check out my other stories. They are awesome.**

**Later guys.**


	2. - Not a Savior but a Martyr

**I am changing a very minuscule part of canon to fit my story**

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**THE ILLUSION AMONG THE CROWS**

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Ozpin struggled to contain his excitement. Through what seemed like endless years of fruitless toil, he had held to the conviction that one day he would find a way to redeem himself for his part in the creation of the irredeemable monster he once called his wife. For the last ten years he had waited patiently, hoping against all reason that this latest gamble would prove to be decisive.

The failures had been galling, and had dented his confidence. Now, however, in one glorious moment, all was restored. He glanced at the other man with the mysterious coal eyes, and smiled.

"Where are we going?" Asked the man.

"To my library and workplace. There is something I am anxious for you to see."

Ozpin led the man along a corridor to a set of doors at the end of it. A press of a button opened it and with only a beckoning nod to him, he entered. Another press of a button and the door was sealed. A moment later and they were carried up the building. The man seemed untroubled by the enclosed space, though his figure tensed as the silence grew.

At last they came to a stop and the doors opened. Beyond them was a large room, with three chairs in the middle of which rested a table. A tall arched window showed a view of the distant sea. To the left was an opening, leading through to a library, the scores of shelves bent under the weight of the books upon them. Ozpin walked on to another door at the rear of the library. This he opened with a single palm on a device adhered to the wall.

Inside was windowless and dark. Ozpin instinctively flipped a switch. Golden light flickered alive in the room, it's glow casting aside the shadows.

"What has been removed?" Asked the man.

Ozpin smiled, noticing the rectangular dust patterns where objects had been taken down from the walls. "Just some paintings," he answered swiftly. "You are very observant." Moving to a desk, he reached down and lifted a light blue broad and flat sword with a brown talisman hanging from the bottom. Turning, he offered the object to his guest.

The man's face darkened and he stepped backward. "I do not want to touch it."

"Why?"

"It is a cursed blade. Where did you get this?"

"Is it not yours? It was buried with you in the tomb. It was laid upon your chest, your hands clasped over them."

"Even so, I… can't have it."

Ozpin took a deep breath. "But you know what it is?"

"Yes, I know," answered the man. "That is the _Schichiseiken_. Though I do not know why it was with me."

"It is possible you have a connection to it. But I doubt… there was never any mention of it in the texts I read."

A beat of silence.

"Do you know who you are?" Ozpin broached. "Or is it among the things you have forgotten?"

"I know my name, and of the stigma it carried throughout my life and to my grave. My identity was never hidden from me. I am Clan Killer Itachi, of the Sharingan."

Ozpin curled his hand around the sword's hilt.

"Do not draw that blade," said Itachi. "You do not know what it can do." With that he swung on his heel and walked back through the library. Ozpin placed the treasured tool on top the desk and ran after him.

Itachi paused, sighed, then turned. "Why did you bring me back, Ozpin?"

"You will understand why when you see the world outside the kingdom. There is a great evil there, Itachi. We need you."

Itachi shook his head. "I do not remember much as of yet, Ozpin, but I know I was never a savior. In every generation there are the prodigies, the average and the dead lasts. I may — just may — have been special in my day. But you must have men of equal skill in this time."

"Would we ever have enough of them," said Ozpin, with feeling. "There is a Great War — unknown it may be to most of the populace — being fought. We have a few doughty fighters, but we have survived this long for two reasons. First, the enemy toys with us. Second, we are protected by our auras." Ozpin hesitated, seeing the look of non-comprehension on Itachi's face. "Ah, but I see I am getting ahead of my tale. You have no knowledge of aura and the power born from it. I believe though in your time, the energy used was Chakra. Spiritual and physical energy melded together."

Itachi's eyes glittered in the light.

"You remember," asked Ozpin.

"No. But, yes, it is familiar."

"Only a handful of men in this world could fight against the evil and hope to survive. We are on the verge of becoming a defeated species, Itachi."

"And you think I can change this unhappy situation? Where is the army?"

"Vale has no army. Regardless, I believe you are the one man who can save us."

"Why?"

Ozpin shrugged and spread his hands. "I told you of the evil I fight. A fight that has spanned _many_ years. I had begone to lose hope that humanity would win when I stumbled upon a book during one of my usual late night reading. In it was a map which showed the place where your body was buried. It was a cunning map. Delightfully conceived. And all who followed it found only an empty sarcophagus in a cave. Beside it was a shattered lid. So they went away, disconsolate."

"But you didn't?"

"Oh, yes, I did. Many times. I wish I could say that I deciphered the riddle of the map through the enormous power of my intellect alone. But I didn't. I had a vision — a dream, perhaps. I had been searching the cave again — my seventeenth journey there, I believe. I was tired and fell asleep. I dreamt of a being cloaked in white with a staff held in hand. He led me from the cave, down the arid wasteland at the foot of the mountains to a dry river bed. Then he spoke. 'The answer is here, if you have the eye to see it.' This was similar to what was written at the base of the map. 'The promised victory lies here, if you have the eye to see it.'

"I awoke with the dawn and walked out to the cave entrance, staring out at the land below. There was the dry river bed. Once the water had flowed, and the river had been bisected by an island. Now there were only two dry channels etching the ground on both sides of a high, circular mound of rocky earth. From the high joint of the cave it looked as if someone had carved a giant eye in the land. I cannot tell you how excited I was as I led the digging party across to the mound. At the center of it we dug. Some seven feet down we struck the stone lid of your coffin."

"I can appreciate your delight," said Itachi, "but I am finding this talk of my coffin unsettling. With all due respect, move on to the book."

"Of course, of course! Forgive me. The book, though faded due to time, was an account on some notable figures of your time. Your resurrection was noted in the pages. Along others. It spoke on how you were brought back to fight against your brother and his allies, but broke out of whatever hold they had on you."

Itachi said nothing for a moment. "Who was the man in your vision?" He asked at last.

"Some believed him to have been the first god in a time far before Remnant. Others say he was the human child of the god of light, the product of an affair between god and man. For myself, I believe him to have been a brilliant arcanist, possessing knowledge far above most beings, and a wise monk. A gifted man who was allowed to play a part in saving humanity."

"Did he have a name, this paragon?"

"Of course. Though he was referred to as the Rikudou Sennin, his real name — if I am not mistaken — was Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki."

All color drained from Itachi's face. "I know him. He came to me in the void."

_The void was endless and impenetrable. A place were time held no meaning yet was eternal. _

_A valley opened up before him. But it was unlike anything he had ever seen. There was no majestic cliffs, no free-flowing waters or forest clinging to its sides. No. It was a desolate place. There will never be life there. He could see dimly; the pallid yellow of the cloudless sky bore down on him like coming twilight. Even though there was no sun. Even though the place laid between the darkness and light. In shadow. Though what casted that shadow, he didn't know, nor did he wish to. But the light was enough that he walked down the valley toward its end, toward __**the**__ end, as it narrowed to a point where he did not know if he could go on, he could see __**them**__._

_They stood along the valley's edge on both sides. High above him. Silent and unmoving. Figures, black. Hooded and cloaked, perhaps. But he thought not. They were the shadows itself. Their eyes were ever upon him, though they do not move. For they had eyes. Great pools of emptiness where their faces should have been. And they had spoken to him. In whispered words and phrases. In wisps of cool breeze that seemed to surround him, though the air was still and hot. What did they say? Could he know? Somehow he did. But whatever that truth may be, he could not bear to repeat it. He could not tell what could not be denied._

_For a long time he had walked down that valley. Until at last, finally at the narrowed point, he had seen someone._

_Tall and pale-skinned, with deep wrinkles and a strong jawline, an elderly man levitated. Below him, 10 black orbs floated in a circle round his form._


End file.
